


take a whole or a part of me

by gutsandglitter



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9837227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutsandglitter/pseuds/gutsandglitter
Summary: In the days following Elinor's death, Serena's behavior begins to remind Bernie of some of her earliest patients.Canon-compliant (sorry), post "Four Letter Word"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Head's up, this one may be a tad trigger-y. Some brief mentions of domestic violence and addiction issues. 
> 
> Written for wonderwanda, who made me promise her some angst after the fluff-fest of my last fic.

When Bernie had first started studying medicine, she wanted to become a GP.

She loved internal medicine. Each new patient was like a puzzle -- they presented her with symptoms, she had to make sense of them and design a treatment plan tailored to the patient’s individual needs. 

She ran circles around her classmates and later her fellow F1s. She took on as many extra shifts as the hospital would allow, and spent every free moment reading medical journals. (That was how she ended up with Marcus, he was the only other member of their class who spent Friday nights in the library.) She was ravenous for new information; each new procedure she studied was like a new tool in her belt, something else she could use in her constant fight against death and disease.

As she rose to the level of F2 she was given a heavier patient load and more opportunities to work without supervision. This was a welcome development, as it gave her the opportunity to put theory into practice. She was helping real people, and she was having a tangible positive impact on their lives. Her patients came to her when they were at their most vulnerable and she was able to fix them and help them get better. She truly felt that she had found her calling.

Then she found out that some patients just don’t want to get better.

 

First there was Sam, the junkie. He’d suffered a massive heart attack at age 26, the result of a poorly-mixed eightball. 

Once he was fully conscious, Bernie pulled up a chair to his bedside and began telling him his rehabilitation options.

“There’s both inpatient and outpatient treatment programs, so you can choose which one best suits your needs,” she said, handing him a glossy pamphlet. 

“Save your breath Miss,” Sam had drawled. “I ain’t doing no rehab. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.”

“I understand how difficult it can be to stay on the wagon,” Bernie replied patiently. “And sometimes it takes several tries, but I think-”

Sam waved a hand at her. “You an’ I both know where this is going. I’m a lost cause and you know it.”

Bernie was too shocked to speak.

Sam smiled softly, his dark eyes filled with a world-weariness far beyond his years. “Just let me go, Miss. Free up this bed for someone who really needs it.”

 

The next time she saw Sam, he was convulsing on a gurney with vomit running down his cheeks. His dark eyes were unresponsive to her penlight, and it wasn’t long before his his broken heart gave out. 

Daisy showed up shortly after that. Daisy’s boyfriend broke her collarbone during an argument, with some sort of blunt instrument she refused to name. It had taken nearly eight hours for the orthopedic surgeon to repair the fracture, which was apparently one of the worst he had ever seen. 

When Bernie went to check her obs, she saw that Daisy was a regular down in ED. She’d been in just two months before for treatment of a burn on her forearm, and three months before that she’d had a dislocated shoulder.

But as soon as Bernie said the words “domestic violence” Daisy had struck her across the face with her unbandaged arm.

“How dare you!” she cried. “It’s not like that, you don’t know a damn thing about it.”

Bernie cradled her injured cheek. “But if he’s hurting you-”

“He won’t do it again, he promised.” Daisy looked away, eyes filling with tears. “And it was my fault this time, I provoked him. Said he wasn’t a real man. Shouldn’t have done that, I know better.” 

“Daisy,” Bernie said, nearly on the verge of tears herself.

The girl refused to meet Bernie’s eye. She picked at the corner of her blanket, bunched it into her fist. Bernie could see that her fingers had been chewed down past the quick, and the skin around them was ragged and raw.

“Have you ever been in love?” Daisy asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Bernie thought guiltily of Marcus. “No,” she said, surprising herself with her own honesty.

Daisy looked up and gave her a soft smile. “You’ll understand it someday then. It’s not all hearts and roses, but we love each other so much it hurts. And the good days with him are so, so good,it’s enough to make up for the rest.”

Bernie knew there was nothing she could do to change Daisy’s mind, and that the moment she discharged her she would go straight back to him. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion, there was nothing Bernie could do but stand by and bear witness as the metal twisted and screamed and shattered glass flew in in every direction. The sheer helplessness made her sick, and she had to excuse herself to go vomit up her breakfast.

She never saw Daisy again.

 

Then there was Irene, who insisted that Bernie call her Reenie.

Reenie had been smoking since she was thirteen; now, fifty years later, she typically went through a pack and a half a day.

Bernie felt a bit hypocritical when it came to Reenie, because she herself snuck the odd cigarette when her anxiety got the better of her. But when Reenie came in a third time with emphysema-related issues, Bernie knew she had to intervene.

“Reenie, I’ve put some nicotine patches and gum in your bag, along with your usual prescriptions,” she said, sitting on the woman’s bed. “I’d like for you to give them a try.”

Reenie rolled her eyes. “I’ve tried them before, they didn’t work.”

“How long ago was that? Because the formulas have greatly improved in the past few years.”

Reenie shook her head. “Not worth it.”

Bernie then employed a tactic she hated using, though she knew it was effective. She looked up at Reenie through her messy fringe, and gave her what Marcus called the ‘wounded puppy look.’ 

“If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me? As much as I love our chats, I’d hate to see you have to come back in here again.”

Reenie laughed softly and squeezed her hand. “Alright, fine. You win. For you, I’ll give them a shot.”

Feeling triumphant, Bernie discharged her and wheeled her out to the front curb. “Shall I call you a cab?”

“No thank you. My daughter should be here any minute.”

Bernie gave Reenie’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before heading back inside. 

When she got back up to her ward, she saw that Reenie had left her scarf behind. Balling the soft fabric in her hands Bernie raced back downstairs, hoping she could still catch the older woman.

As she jogged out the front door, she saw that Reenie was still on the curb where Bernie had parked her.

“Reenie,” Bernie panted. “You forgot your-” 

She stopped short when she saw the lit cigarette dangling from Reenie’s yellowed fingers, ash already building on the tip.

Reenie gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, love. Old habits die hard, eh?”

 

The next smoker was even worse, Bernie hadn’t even gotten back inside the building before he was lighting up, trying to smoke through the newly-placed stoma in his throat.

 

That was the breaking point.

 

When it came time to choose her specialty, Bernie turned to surgery. If they were on her docket, it meant that they had agreed to the surgery and they knew the risks, complications, and aftercare involved. No one who thought of themself as a lost cause would seek surgery, and Bernie could fix their ailments right then and there without them getting in her way.

Or so she thought.

After a few months, she started to see familiar faces on her table. People coming in for their second, third bypass surgery, because they refused to exercise. The alcoholic who ruined his liver transplant with drink. Another bloody smoker. Time and time again she gave them a second chance at life, only to have them squander it.

 

As soon as she got the opportunity, she turned to trauma surgery and enlisted in the army. 

Because people tend to actively avoid getting shot a second time.

***

In the weeks following Elinor’s death, Bernie was reminded of those early patients, of Sam and Daisy and Reenie. She felt the familiar helplessness setting in, felt it seeping into every cranny and nook of her life. She couldn’t fix this. There was nothing to cut out, nothing to stitch up.

Worse yet, Serena was rejecting what little help Bernie had to offer. Bernie could see her bitter resignation building, caught glimpses of the _lost cause_ look on Serena’s face. She was another patient refusing treatment, trying to free up a bed for “someone who really needed it.” She had given up hope, given up on herself.

Bernie stood by, giving Serena the space she needed while also staying within arm’s reach. She assigned Serena to teaching duties, double-checked her patient files for mistakes, offered coffees and food and rides home. Bernie allowed herself to be berated, undermined, and pushed away, because she loved Serena and would do anything for her.

After the tilting at windmills conversation Bernie went home and poured herself a large glass of Crown Royal. She added a single ice cube, almost as an afterthought.

She curled up on the sofa, cradling her glass in both hands. As she stared at the lone, bobbing ice cube, she remembered Daisy’s words from all those years ago.

_The good days with him are so, so good, it’s enough to make up for the rest._

She traced the lip of the glass with her pinkie. If someone were looking at the situation from the outside, would they see what Bernie had seen in that young woman? A stupid, stubborn optimism that could only ever end in heartbreak and pain?

When someone like Morven looked at her, did they see twisted metal and smell burning rubber?

“Perhaps I’m the one tilting at windmills,” she murmured to herself, before taking a large swig of her drink.

As the weeks wore on, Bernie became more and more convinced that this was true. Serena was cold to her, downright cruel sometimes, and Bernie just sat there and took it. 

Then came the day with the wine bottles and the calls to Edward. At the end of that positively hellish day, as they sat in their office Bernie had placed her hand on Serena’s knee. After a beat Serena had covered Bernie’s hand with her own, and Bernie could have cried from relief.

Finally, she thought. She’s finally going to let me in.

But then-

“If you wait five minutes I’ll give you a lift home.”

“I think I’ll walk.”

That was it then. After all of it, after everything they had been through, she was pushing Bernie away again. It was a simple refusal, but to Bernie it felt like a dagger to the heart. She felt the bile begin to rise in her throat, felt the traitorous tears begin to prickle at the corners of her eyes. 

“Okay,” she murmured, and turned to leave. As angry and hurt as she was, she couldn’t let Serena see her cry. She couldn’t add her own broken heart to Serena’s already massive pile of guilt and self-loathing. 

“Bernie?”

She stopped, steeling herself for the worst.

“You will...come round later though?”

She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and crossed the room, gathering Serena in her arms.

She felt Serena melt into the embrace, allowing herself to be properly held for the first time since the funeral. Bernie nuzzled the crook of Serena’s neck, took a deep whiff of the familiar mix of Shalimar and shampoo she had grown to crave.

“I don’t want us to fall apart,” she whispered.

And they wouldn’t, she would make sure of that. Because what she had never realized about Sam and Daisy and Reenie and the countless others who had allowed themselves to go under was the fact that all of them were alone. Not a single one of them had a loved one in their corner to fight for them when they couldn’t do it for themselves.

Serena wasn’t like them, because she had Bernie. And Bernie would always be there to fight for her.

Because that’s what love is -- defending the indefensible.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Hayden Calnin's "For My Help"


End file.
